


Could Use a Hand...

by Shatterpath



Series: Second and Fourth [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Kink Bingo 2011, Shower Sex, Uniform Kink, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 01:27:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2090601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shatterpath/pseuds/Shatterpath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started with the boots…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Could Use a Hand...

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by my 2011 Kink Bingo card. My prompts were, in rough order: Foot/Shoe Fetish - Bites/Bruises - Emotion Play - Possession/Marking - Sleepy/Unconscious  
> This was randomly started somewhere around Insane 0-dark-30 hour on 8-3. It all started with the red boots. I don't ask. And, this time Steve decided he was going to be the aggressive one, but have no fear, there's another idea in my head where the tables will be turned on him.  
> I don't own The Avengers, OBVIOUSLY. I just needed some new toys to play with.

It was ridiculous. Really.

They were only boots. Even if the red of them constantly drew the eye.

The noticing had taken time and an absence of battle where Steve worked out the kinks in his Captain America suit, tailoring Coulson's labor of love to his body and the way it moved. Tony tweaked the armor, bulked it up at shin and forearm, letting the eye follow the danger color of red away from his heavier joints and vital organs. The stripes over the flat, powerful abdomen were toned down, the colors dulled, so as not to draw attention.

But the gloves, running halfway up powerful forearms, and those armored boots, nearly to the knee, those remained eye-catching… and distracting.

It was that last reality that Natasha knew had to be controlled. She was fine in the heat of battle, everything a familiar blur to be calculated and adapted to like the weapon she was. But the good captain had taken to sparring in his bulky armor, wisely wanting to ensure he could move with it, know it as intimately as his own skin. And for all Tony's snarking and innuendo about chaffing and such, it was true, a distraction could get you killed.

So it came as no shock when Natasha found herself flung halfway across the room to sprawl into a gasping, boneless heap. Tony whooped in startled delight even as a great weight thudded down on her back. With a clang of sound, the damn shield was pressed over her head, the edges pinning her hands. Her gasping breath echoed crazily around the concave inner surface of the shining vibranium, her own scents mixing with his, and the old leather straps pressed against her cheek…

It was a good move and she was very effectively pinned. To affect any sort of escape she would probably hurt herself and it wasn't worth it. But, for a long moment, she lay there and soaked up Steve's weight pressed painfully into her spine and the hearty tread of that distracting boot impressed into her skin. There was something delicious about how this felt, the razor edge of danger to them both. Somewhat reluctantly, she slapped the floor and immediately, Steve moved away, freeing her completely. 

"You're distracted," he critiqued in a no-nonsense tone and Natasha rolled onto her back so she could nod.

"Sorry, Captain. But you took excellent advantage of that. Nice move."

A lifetime of practice kept her voice even, voice calm, eyes on his handsome face and not the flash of red where his arms were crossed sternly across his chest. For a long moment, he only stared, his expression as unreadable as hers, before jerking his head towards the doors. "Hit the showers."

It startled Natasha to be a bit stung by the dismissal, Steve striding away with a loose, aggressive stride.

"Come on, laughing boy, let's see what you've got."

Oh well, at least Tony would get thrown around a bit. But Natasha startled herself again, walking away from the sparring and indeed hitting the showers. There were several rooms of showerheads big enough for the team if they were cozy and Banner was behaving himself. Tony would eat that up, Clint would hardly give a damn and the Asgardians didn't strike Natasha as the prudish sort. Not with all the raunchy stories they had left behind. Poor, repressed Captain Perfect would probably blush himself unconscious. Shame too, because the fantasies regarding that golden boy were definitely becoming a favorite semi-guilty pleasure.

Not that Natasha would admit it. She maintained her ice-queen demeanor for many good reasons.

Stripping bare, she cranked up two of the punishing showerheads hot enough to be just at the edge of scalding. The heat beat down on her skin, seeping into her flesh in the best combination of pain and pleasure. For as much as it brought Natasha relief, the wet heat made the stomp mark on her back burn, echoed in the summery swamp simmering deep in her guts.

Not that Natasha was surprised by the traitorous heat plaguing her suddenly. That man was like a flashback to the best and worst times of her life, a past both hazy and crystal clear. Something about the slow-building, simmering danger, leashed so tightly, plucked deeply at ingrained threads where few could reach.

An intoxicating temptation.

Amused and annoyed by how worked up she was, Natasha took advantage of the sundries left out to start getting the mundane business of cleanliness out of the way. She even kept it fairly businesslike, despite the irregular frissons of arousal when she brushed up to sensitive areas, not all of them obvious. Then… then she found that big, sore imprint on her back, reminding her of her earlier distraction.

So much for cooling off. Maybe she should try the cold shower approach.

Irritable and wound up, Steve knew there was no way he could easily keep himself from spindling Tony and sent the darker man off relatively unscathed. Frankly, he needed to figure out how to unlock the puzzle that was Natasha. Their early camaraderie had never extended past the battlefield and even that had been getting hit and miss over time. Well, time for him to be team leader and find something that worked.

It took a bit of negotiation with Jarvis to get the locked door open, but the superior officer argument was a tough one to beat. The room was choked with steam, making sweat prickle under his costume and habitual alarm put him in super-soldier mode. This would be a hell of a place for an ambush…

Nope, not an ambush. Something far more startling. Starkers and soaking wet, Natasha was even more enticing than those damn, what did they call them again? Catsuits. Yeah, despite her spider moniker, the woman looked to be all cat now, back arched, feet slightly apart, both hands high on her back tracing the ugly boot print he'd stomped into her flesh. Yeah, he wasn't pleased about the bruise, but he was pleased about earning the rare chance to best her on the mat. And he might not be the best guy with the dames, but she sure didn't have the body language of someone unhappy with the battle wounds, nosiree. 

"You look like you need a hand there."

Clearly startled, she whipped around like a cobra, hesitating to see Steve standing there, arms once more harshly crossed over his chest, feet planted apart. With shield slung over his back and the cowl covering half his face, the man was every inch the super-soldier science had made him into.

Rattled by being snuck up on, Natasha scrambled for the upper hand, easing herself sideways to gain some distance, smile going flirtatious. "Well that's some offer, Captain. But isn't that a little kinky for you?"

In a blur, he burst through the spray of the roaring shower, slamming his hands to the tile wall on either side of her head hard enough to crack the porcelain. Fog and spray beaded on the blue fabric, beading away and wetting his lower face, making his intense arctic blue eyes blaze like a hot flame.

"Do you think I don't know what it's like, Natasha?" Steve growled menacingly, his gaze boring into slightly widened green eyes. "World War Two was a hell this world has never seen before or since. The stink, the rot, mud sapping away men's strength and will. Day in and day out, the rumble of shells, the ground shaking, dirt raining down like hail. Thunder and fireworks and the maw of hell come to grind us all up like meat. The loss would crawl up your spine, choke you trying to hold back the screaming just because the sheer scale of what was happening around you was too much. Just too much."

One big hand, crimson leather like a fist soaked in blood, pressed to her sternum, the strength and sheer mass of him skirting that razor edge of terrifying.

"I offered myself to serve, to be turned into a gun, a blade, a tank. They caged me, maybe even wisely, in the colors I respect, paraded me around like a tamed, dangerous animal, whored me out for the cause, until someone I respected and…" he finally faltered, the half-crazy heat in his gaze cracking and cooling like glass. "And loved, reminded me not just what I was, but who."

Trembling, Natasha reached up and pushed back the blue cowl from Steve's face. For the first time, in everything they had been through, she really looked at him… finally truly saw him. 

"I'm sorry, Steve," she murmured. "I hadn't thought to see how alike we are."

It was a big apology for the normally tight-lipped assassin and Steve took her at her word, pushing aside his seething emotions with a decisive nod. "Apology accepted."

Seeing that Natasha was still tense, he relaxed the pressure on her sternum, trailing that same hand between those fine tits and downward.

"Now, I believe I offered a hand."

That gloved touch on her abdomen made Natasha blink and Steve laughed; a low, dirty sound that made her even wetter.

"Don't tell me you bought into the propaganda, comrade?" The lilt on that word swirled irritation with the arousal and she had a feeling her grin looked like his, more a showing of teeth in pleased threat. "Your chassis isn't as familiar, but your need is. War doesn't give a fuck who lives and who dies. You celebrate life with whoever's still breathing."

Nodding faintly, Natasha ran bare hands over his arm, pausing at the crimson gauntlet, caressing the heavy fabrics, the armored plates.

"You want to belong again, don't you, Natasha," Steve purred quietly, enjoying seeing the emotions flickering over her face and through those surprisingly evocative eyes. Aggravation quieted now, he was honored by her trust in letting him simply see some of the real her. "You can trust me. We can trust each other."

Some perverse little corner of Steve's brain, the one that sounded suspiciously like Bucky, laughed almost meanly that this probably wasn't the sort of team-building exercise the shrinks had in mind, but he ignored it. Natasha was pushing at his hand and Steve wasn't the sort of fella who could refuse a lady.

The way her dark eyelashes fluttered would be a memory Steve would cherish, a sharp inhale through her nose as her body arched away from the wall. Even with his sense of touch blunted by the gauntlets, Steve remembered the way around the basic terrain of her body, long weeks traveling with attractive, curious and horny chorus girls an education that would shock most. 

That same little Bucky-voice laughed that Tony would just love this sort of feedback on the sensitivity of the gloves and Steve barely refrained from rolling his eyes at himself. This was really not the damn time for his ghosts to be bothering him. Grinning, Steve leaned in, breath mingling with Natasha's as he mapped out the heat between her thighs he could feel quite clearly. It wasn't until that moment that he realized he was hard as an iron bar, cock trapped awkwardly beneath the armor meant to protect that particular piece of ordinance. He sure felt like a live grenade, watching this secretive beauty he'd finally figured out a piece of the puzzle about.

"Trust me," he murmured again, seeing that terrified want in her eyes. "Belong here. I'll watch over you, don't I always? And you'll watch over me in turn."

When his free hand shifted to press into her back, Steve suddenly had more Natasha than he could handle. In her powerful, fluid way, she'd climbed his body, arms on his shoulders and cradling his head and those amazing legs wrapped tight around his lower ribs. Despite the enticing tits practically in his face, Steve kept his gaze locked with hers, smirking and stroking her butt and soft heat with his constricted hand.

"To give you a hand, I need a hand, good-lookin'," he chuckled as she undulated against the smooth fabric encasing his body and the armored layers hidden beneath. 

"You seem like a smart fella, you figure it out."

Oh, he liked that soft, throaty note in her voice that matched the look in her eye that he'd bet another seventy years in the ice that few saw. 

The struggle to regain use of his hand made Steve chuckle in amusement as she gripped him crushingly tight with those powerful legs. And boy did he feel it, the pressure making his ribs ache and grinding his own arm into his belly painfully. Then he figured out that the armored glove was pressed to Natasha's groin and she was writhing just that little bit against it. Ah, now he understood what was going on and it wasn't like he could move that arm anyway…

Groaning at the hard hand flat against her bruised back, Natasha obeyed the pressure, rocking her hips against his trapped arm, breathing just that little bit labored. When he smoothed his hand down her back to feel her ass, she liked it ok, but liked that nasty bruise better. Ah well, he was the last guy who was gonna judge. Leaning in, green eyes unfocused, Natasha rested her mouth on Steve's cheekbone, breath hot and cool over his skin, wet strands of hair tickling them both. But she sounded frustrated, just a faint note in her heavier breathing, the way her body rocked, and Steve followed his instincts to burrow past her wet locks to that damp, hot place behind her ear. A secretive place hidden beneath red curls where he could sink his teeth into the muscles anchoring her skull to her spine.

Natasha squawked an undignified sound, the thrust of her hips knocking Steve back a step, but he hung on. Captured painfully, like a scruffed cat, Natasha grabbed the illicit turn-on eagerly and ground her pussy onto Steve's gauntlet until the quick, hard rush of orgasm swept over her nerves. Only then did Steve give her scalp a quick lick and pull back to catch a breath not so choked with heat and wet.

"Better?"

Uncharacteristically embarrassed, Natasha nodded and released her grip to slide to the floor tiles. But that gloved hand, so recently caressing her pains into pleasure, tilted her chin up to look into warm blue eyes.

"You need a hand anytime, doll, come see me."

Giving her chin an affectionate tweak, Steve sauntered out, snagging a towel as he went. Both relaxed and wound up, Natasha leaned against the wall and filed away the strange incident in her mental files, realizing that she really didn't know much about this man at all.

Days away from the Avengers tower didn't help at all. That small, niggling memory of that last workout was a thorn in the Black Widow's proverbial paw. Thankfully training and reflexes made up for being just a half-step off, but she was still a jittery mass of paranoid nerves by the time she made it back. Fury noticed it, tossing her out after a perfunctory debriefing with orders to decompress. He didn't give a damn if she got drunk or laid or started a brawl she could slip away from.

"Did he really say that?" Clint was nearly doubled up with laughter while Natasha indulged in a frosty glass of the vodka she kept handy for the occasional indulgence. She was considering taking Fury's third suggestion and punching Clint to make him yelp. It wouldn't have been an effort to drag her familiar partner off for any sort of R&R, but that would do squat for the distracting curiosity that was part of her jitters. And Natasha was hardly the sort of woman to back down from a challenge. Clint blinked in surprise when she clicked her glass to the table next to his elbow.

"Finish that for me, won't you?"

Completely nonplussed by the gift, he stared almost suspiciously at the glass before watching Natasha sashay away. "Where are you going without finishing your drink?"

"I gotta see a man about a horse," she drawled in some faintly cheesy New York accent and Clint could only shake his head. She was odd but he adored her.

The Avengers Tower was a bitch to get into, but once inside, it was like most skyscrapers. Standard security measures in most place with a few spots beefed up. Natasha knew them all. She'd even helped design a few.

Breaking into Steve's room was even easier, for he was a man out of time accustomed to having little more than sturdy mechanical locks of pins and tumblers. Hardly a challenge to Natasha. His suite was cool and smelled as clean as it looked. She took in the room in one glance and zeroed in on the conveniently open door nearby. On silent feet she crept over, half anticipating the rippling metallic sound of the flung shield. It made her pause for a moment before straightening up from her crouch.

"Steve."

The room beyond wasn't completely dark and she saw the indistinct shape of his body shift in the dimness.

"You broke into my apartment?"

The note of amusement in his voice was aggravating, but the sleep-rough thrum of ran in a direct line to her libido. Even Natasha could hear the catch in her breath, just that tiny reaction to how this man she trusted could slip past her defenses. Without ever moving, she could somehow feel Steve's regard sharpen, his emotions run closer to the surface as surely as an extended, concerned hand.

Yet… he remained still and quiet. It was rare, so very rare, that someone really understood her so well. 

A flicker of movement made her flinch, nearly running away, but she paused. The dark bed sheet, flung off his long, golden body, catching the distant lights of the city that never slept. A silent, undemanding invitation from one warrior at arms to another. Like a cat, Natasha padded over and sat on the edge of his bed to curl along his side, fully clothed. She was stunned at the heat pouring off him, never having touched his bare skin before.

For long moments, Steve remained still and loose in the bed, paying close attention the welcome length of the woman at his side. Not until she rubbed a single finger against the curve of his ribs, as though curious how his skin felt, did he curl up the outflung arm her head lay on. With a loose, open hand, he rested his fingers against her shoulder and brushed his thumb through the soft strands of her hair. And little by little the furnace of his body began to thaw her, the slim, wiry body so impossibly deadly melting into him.

"I could use a hand later," Natasha murmured quietly even as sleep crept in on her and was warmed by Steve's low chuckle.


End file.
